No Way Out
by El Chacal
Summary: Rewritten and reposted. Film noir private eye story mixed with wrestling. A kidnapping brings detective Borden on the case. Involves WWF, WCW, ECW. Please read & review. Adult language, sexual content and violence.


No Way Out

By: El Chacal

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the idea and concept for this story. Don't sue me please. Thank you.

A/n: If anyone remembers back to when Ivory and Kat had that gravy bowl match and the EMT that performed the Heimlich maneuver to save Kat from choking on a mushroom. Ivory then ripped the EMT's shirt off, exposing the other woman's large chest. The EMT, named B.B. a.k.a. Kathy Dingman Howard, will be in this story. Just FYI, ok.

* * *

Weary eyes gazed upon the antiquated grandfather clock standing sentinel in the far corner of the dim lit office. It's 3 o'clock at eight in the evening; not on the inconsistency on keeping time. Rather because its owner couldn't afford the repair work. 

A bottle of hundred percent proof Jack Daniels' whiskey and his pet cat, Fiona, were the only company he had. Being social was never one of his greatest aptitudes. In truth, the only word in his vocabulary that came close to 'aptitude' is 'attitude'.

He had one and not a good one at it, not since the day he left the force to become a private investigator.

A private detective, unbound from the barriers of the force. He didn't answer to a judge or to a supervisor or a superior. He answered only to God.

So far, no one has ever come to his door and it took practically his whole pension just to get by.

Raising his left hand, he drank from the shot glass full of booze. A grimace crossed his face as a slight burn radiated through his forearm wrapped in a white bandage.

His girlfriend, a doctor at Diamond Grove Hospital, had tended his arm herself. He recalls her telling him that he could remove the bandage after three weeks.

She told him that diagnosis three years ago. The bandage is still on his arm.

She said that the burning would stop. But it won't stop. It didn't matter how many bandages covered his body or how much he drank.

That burn still lingers.

A flash of light from the passing traffic illuminates the otherwise gloomy hole in the wall he called his office, bringing an armoire bound in double iron chains and padlocked shut into view.

The piece of furniture contained something….someone he once was; what he walked away from….something and someone he swore never to return to.

His senses and nerves, though almost shot to hell, caught the sound of someone approaching. Quickly stashing the booze and masking his bourbon breath with a fistful of mints from his drawer, he sat up straight in an attempt to come across as sober. Fiona leapt from the desk and curled up in a furry little ball on her pillow bed in her corner of the office.

The silence of the room made the knock on the door sound louder than it really was.

"Come in." he called out.

The door opened, revealing a lithe, gorgeous woman decked out in a business outfit. Her stiletto heels clicked like a metronome as she glided over to his desk on the finest pair of legs he ever saw on a woman. After sitting down subtly on the chair in front of his desk, she addressed him.

"Are you Detective Borden?" Her voice was melodious, yet it was laced with something else, something indecipherable.

"How can I help you, miss…?"

"Ms. Hancock." She said, introducing herself. "My daughter, Stacy, disappeared three weeks ago. I had already gone to the police but they have no idea what they're doing."

When she finished pleading her case to Borden, he looked her straight in the eye with a partially bloodshot eye and said, "Of all the gumshoes and flatfoots in this festering snake pit of a city, what compelled you to waltz through my door?"

Slightly cringing to the excessive scent of mints on his breath, Hancock replied. "To be honest, your reputation precedes you. Once upon a time, you were decorated as one of the most assiduous and valiant cops on the force. You don't look like much anymore, do you?"

With a steel glare in his slightly buzzed stare, he spat out, "Ms. Hancock, my life story will not help you find your daughter anytime soon. Telling it to me sure as hell won't pay for my services either."

At that moment, he wished he hadn't put away the JD. To hell if she thought he had turned into a gloomy, wretched drunkard hanging from the edge of a cliff by the hairs on his knuckles.

"Do you have the time, detective?" she asked rather smugly.

"My watch stopped the day I left the force." He said rather brusquely.

With a delicate, manicured hand, Ms. Hancock extracted a cell phone from her purse. No sooner did the device touch her hand did it begin to ring.

"It's your call, detective." Hancock said, placing the phone directly in front of him.

* * *

_Why do I feel like the mark of the century?_

This question plagued Borden's mind as he sauntered down the bleak sidewalks of Death Valley. A voice in the back of his mind began to rent space in his head the moment he took the case. From time to time, it screamed at him, telling him to drop the investigation and walk away.

At first, he considered doing so, but then he realized what he would have to go back to.

An office/makeshift home with a dead end job, a pension almost dried up and the landlord itching to nail or tattoo an eviction notice on his ass. He and Fiona would be out on the streets where they would either die from starvation, exposure to the elements or from the gang warfare.

He had to take the case so he could finally afford clean laundry, full showers, decent meals, an air conditioner, heater and the other things employed people take for granted. Food and medical coverage for both Fiona and him stood on the top needs on the list. But there was one pertinent and personal reason why he needed this job.

So he could still hold his head up in front of Kathy, his busty, blonde bombshell of a girlfriend; the love of his life. He didn't want her to think she was wasting her life with some out-of-work bum detective.

Ms. Hancock had made clear several other reasons why he couldn't turn down the case.

Ten million reasons she deposited into his bank account that used to have a balance of $200. The advance she gave him helped to feed Fiona, clean himself up and get a decent suit, tailor made to boot.

Decked in a grey 3-piece suit, shined shoes with spats and a beige raincoat, he began to resemble a matinee detective. Then, just for kicks, Borden went and bought himself a felt fedora hat reminiscent of Humphrey Bogart.

His gut begins to strain slightly as he crossed the borders into the ECW district of Death Valley. The whole neighborhood that called itself 'extreme' was the mobster baron's Las Vegas without all the bright lights.

Their gathering place of leisure activities and inebriated frivolities was known as the Hammerstein Ballroom. The building stood in the likeness to a cathedral in ruins.

Pushing the scarlet doors open, Borden stepped right into an atmosphere that blended the erotic styles of a brothel and the narcotic flairs of an opium den into one indulgent aphrodisiac to the senses.

The lanky Shannon Moore stood at the front desk, counting up the profits and losses for the month until he found himself staring up at the trenchant glare of Detective Borden.

"Relax, kid, I ain't here to step all up on your ass." Borden said nonchalantly as he looked at the anxious teen. "In fact, should you answer my questions correctly; it's easy money in your pocket. Word 'round the campfire is that a Bowery native hangs out at this dive."

Subtly flashing two $1,000 dollar bills across the table, Steven could see that he had Shannon's attention. "He's in the secluded area behind the curtain, next to the phonograph. Be quiet, he's with Kimona. He doesn't take well to interruptions."

Having fed the mule his strawberries, Borden began to tread carefully through the sea of decadent and high patrons. Five minutes later, he was cursing to himself, swearing never to try and take any 'hot leads' from the deranged Bill Alfonso.

Passing through the curtains, he entered a candlelit room decorated with oriental rugs and furniture with Indian Sandalwood incense burning deeply into the air.

Sliding his eyes around, he soon came across a lone figure upon a bed currently receiving a deftly lap dance from a brunette Asian woman. The haunting melodies of 'Dracula' by Gorillaz floating out from an 18th century Victorian phonograph added to the dark, twisted aspect of the tableau.

Abruptly, the man placed his hands upon her shoulders, signaling her to stop. Rising off his lap, she wrapped a robe around her figure before walking over to the mini-bar and preparing herself a Red Death.

The mystery man's face was hidden partially by the long, dark red hair, his black shirt; kilt and boots, along with his tapped fists presented him as some sort of grim, nomadic brawler.

"You don't smell like filth anymore. You still came from it though. You just learned how to hide it from the world, haven't you, Detective Borden?"

"I'm not here for a theological discussion of my hygiene or my conscience, Raven. I was told you could help me."

"That louse Alfonso should learn to keep to his own matters." Raven sighed, a spider dancing idly in the far corner of the bedposts before a dart impaled it viciously. Kimora giggled at her aim. Raven remained stoic.

"Little Miss Stacy's gone astray. Yes, I know. The mayor's princess has gone missing and they send a pirate to find her. How tragically bizarre is that?" Raven mused as he drank a deep gulp from his chalice of absinthe without batting an eyelash.

"You do know that stuff can make you insane." Borden said.

"The influential factor of what is regarded as lunacy versus sanity is the perception of the world around us."

Borden shook his head. How is it that someone with the mental IQ of a college professor winds up as a manipulative, malevolent, misanthropic madman?

"Look to the New Blood, Borden. You know them very well. Those miniscule mid-card pups are hungry for a shot to run with the big dogs."

"I know. I brought in all of them but every time I did, they were bailed out and the judge suspended their sentences despite all the evidence to the contrary."

"Which leads to the one question you must ask yourself: When you do find them again, what are you prepared to do?" Raven inquired.

"I will find them, bring them to task for their actions and convict them to the highest extent of the law."

"Marvelous, Johnny Law, but when that's done, what are you prepared to do? You just told me exactly what would happen when you 'walk the line'. They do a few nights in the lockup before they walk away laughing as free men. So what are you prepared to do when justice is not served, Detective?"

"I will not turn into a criminal to catch them, Raven!" Borden spat out vehemently.

"Don't you mean you won't turn back to what you were to catch the bad man?" Raven crooned sinisterly. "You had been worse than any two-time criminal, bar brawler or wannabe kingpin in Death Valley. Your reputation with the pack made you one of the most feared folks in this necropolis, right behind the Undertaker." Despite his mysterious expressions, Raven was hesitant to speak any comparisons when discussing the Deadman.

"It's easier to cross the line than it is to walk it. It happens to be more effective as well." Kimona said as she watched the detective took his leave, pushing over drunkards and perverts left and right.

* * *

Leaving the Hammerstein Ballroom in an attempt to breath fresh air back into his lungs, Borden found himself walking further into the ECW neighborhood. 

His mind going back to what Raven had told him. It was difficult to walk the line when the city you live in does not. He was a wild man in his halcyon days so perhaps his ambitions blinded him from the truth of his actions.

Then it hits him right in the gut. A low down feeling that no one, not even he could ignore: His growling stomach.

He had to tend to his own necessities before he could tend to the case. Walking down the streets, he soon found himself standing in front of Café Carrizo, a classic Sicilian bistro, owned and operated by the Sicilian shooter, Nunzio.

The intoxicating smells of fresh cannolies, pastries, pastas, meatballs, chicken cacciatore, parmesan cheese and red wine caused Borden to salivate.

Quickly wiping the saliva from his face, Borden walked through the doors calmly and coolly.

The inside of the bistro resembled a quaint, serene café in Palermo. The atmosphere was soft as the melodious sounds of mandolins, violins and accordions floated through the air.

He passed a wary glance over the area, attempting to foresee any potential threats. He relaxed when he noticed that the clientele kept to themselves and kept out of others' affairs.

With easy yet swift stride, he made his way to the private lounge tavern in the back where Dean Martin's best hits rose from a vintage jukebox in the corner.

"What brings you here other than the strength of your own two feet?" Big Sal E. Graziano asked as Borden took a seat at the bar. "A shot of rum, a bite to eat, and a word with Little Guido" He replied evenly.

He had no problem fulfilling the first two requests. After the drink was set before the private eye and a plate order delivered to the kitchen, Big Sallie flagged over Nunzio's moll.

"Trin, be a doll and fetch Nunzio. Borden needs to talk to him."

Giving a curt nod to the 600-lb Big Guido, Trinity sauntered off to Nunzio's office.

Glancing back to the bar, Borden found a large plate of linguine and meatball marinara sprinkled with parmesan cheese along with sliced tomatoes and Portobello mushrooms next to the shot of rum. Borden took the knife in one hand, the fork in the other and ate the first decent meal he ever had since the day he left the force.

* * *

While Borden relished the cuisine, a young man, about 20 years old, along with an attractive, athletic blonde-brunette dame walked towards the bar, calling the attention of the brawny Stamboli. 

"Hey, Tyler. Who's the new face?"

"A friend." Tyler said. "Listen, we need to lay low for a while."

"Whoa, kid, this ain't the 'No-Tell Motel, capisce? What's up?"

"I can't say it but this is the one place that Hall won't find us. It took a long time just to sneak into the underground."

Giving a slow nod, Stamboli led them to the back of the bistro.

Meanwhile, Borden was greeted by Nunzio after he finished his meal.

* * *

"So what's the case that pulled you out of retirement, flatfoot?" Nunzio inquired nonchalantly. 

"What makes you think I'm on a case to begin with?"

"No one walks into the ECW side of town unless they want to make something disappear for good or to find something no one's talking about anymore. Which one are you, Steve?"

"I'm a wanderer in search of reprieve and illumination." Borden replied evenly.

Nunzio looked him right in the eye before he slammed the palm of his hand on the bar in amusement. "Who knew a wino detective could become so eloquent when sober? Certainly not me, that's for damn sure."

"A young girl's gone missing. One guy I talked to led me to believe the New Blood might be in on it. Your goombas haven't seen anything out of the ordinary recently, have ya?"

"If you're referring to a Genetic Freak who had his mits all over the waitresses, a trash talking loudmouth in Shane Douglas and that Kidman mook roughing up Rena's daughter, Torrie."

Steve cringed. Kathy would be hopping mad if she heard that her niece had been roughed up by Billy Kidman.

"Do you know where I can find them?" Borden asked; the names of the trio filling into his head all the while. "I don't but check out the town. Anybody here who's still alive or sober enough to talk knows all the shit that flows through the city.

* * *

After thanking Nunzio for the food and leaving the bistro, Borden made his way outside and further into the ECW underworld, the symphony of sirens heralded the untimely passing of an unfortunate soul or the common breaking and entry. 

The battle-worn detective made his way to a rather raucous bar known as the Rolling Rock. He hadn't walked farther than two paces from the door before a sober/drunk Sandman emerged from the local watering hole. Steadying himself on his Singapore cane, the hardcore icon caught a glimpse of Borden.

"Hi, Sandman." Steven said as he greeted the blonde drunkard of ECW. "How are things on the circuits?"

"Things have gone on the way they always have with someone winning a ton of cash and the other headed to the hospital where the doctors are kept in their practices and professions." Sandman said, bringing a cigarette to his lips, firing it up with a zeppo lighter. "Whatcha up to, Borden?"

"A missing girl, three lowlife punks, the high possibility for a fight or two and the off-chance that someone will not see the light of day; what do you think?" Borden responded. With a release of smoke from his lungs, Sandman laughed. "Sounds like fun. Mind if I come along? Don't got a lot to do today anyway."

"Why not? I could use the back up." Borden said as he and the Sandman walked down the streets. "Who're you lookin' for?" Sandman asked between puffs.

"Steiner."

"Freakzilla's in on this score?" Sandman asked walking in stride alongside Borden.

"Billy Kidman, the Franchise and the Genetic Freak all have parts to play in this caper, although the only great idea any of them ever had was just to get a little more. They had been and still are nothing more than muscle; a few mid-card pups trying to earn their place as big time players. In reality, none of them have the calculative wits or the insanity to pull off a kidnapping, even if it involves mayor Okerlund's daughter."

"Do you have any idea who's sitting behind the wheel of this cab?" Sandman asked, taking a deep whiff of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke into the night breeze.

"All the roads would possibly lead to one parasitical piece of shit named Vampiro, but the problem with this is the fact that he's a mad dog killer. If he's the brains behind it, Nunzio's guys would have told me that they found Stacy's body. Trust me, in this situation, Vampiro isn't at the top of this food chain."

"Why would the Sicilian Shooter keep tabs on Vampiro for you?"

"A few years back, Nunzio's distant cousin, Joy Giovanni wanted to start her own business in Death Valley; a sanctuary amidst a snake pit. Paul Heyman, Jim Cornette, Eric Bischoff and the entire McMahon family wanted to own this enterprise. To her credit, she never bowed to the whims of any of them, despite their influence within the city. Along with mayor Okerlund, Cardinal Nikolai Volkoff, notary Tony Chimel and myself, we arranged it so that her area of business would be the neutral hot spot for all the denizens of the city and it couldn't be taken by anyone except to herself. Because I aided his family in a time that they needed it, they took me in as a friend of theirs."

"Oh, yeah, the Crystal Lake nightclub, right?" Sandman knew about the Crystal Lake. For a long time since it opened, he and all the guys in ECW had to deal with Heyman's rants about the one piece of land he couldn't get his claws into. He could still go in as a customer but he couldn't touch one dime the Crystal Lake ever made and it made millions of dollars.

Turning his mind back to the present day, Sandman voiced a suggestion to Steve. "If we're going to go play a game of Q&A, we'll need some help. Follow me."

* * *

A half hour and two blocks later, Sandman entered an enclosed phone booth and made a phone call. "Joey Numbers, it's Jim. Listen, man, get Tazz to send some guys over with a Caddy, a sidecar along with some hardware and a cold six-pack to the Rolling Rock. Don't ask why I need all of this. The less said, the better for all of us. Bischoff's guys may be blue blooded fucks but that doesn't mean they stopped trying to peak over the fence." Waiting for a few moments, Sandman responded. "Thanks a mil, Numbers." Hanging up the phone, he pitched another call to his close friend and ally, Tommy Dreamer. 

Coming out of the phone booth, he gave the run down to Borden. "Ok, here's the news. Joey Numbers, a guy who runs the FTW chop shop along with Tazz is sending some of his guys down here with some wheels for us. Before we go on the hunt for your boy Steiner, we gotta pick up Dreamer on the way."

"Why would we have to do that?"

"Tommy is trained; a qualified man. We call him 'The Innovator of Violence' around these parts because he has creative ways to maim his enemies, as well as loosening up a few tongues along the way."

Looking at Borden's bandaged appendage, Sandman asked, "What happened to your arm?"

"I did a lot of things that hurt me and hurt others. This is perhaps a way of me feeling what I've been heaping on others." Even to his ears, Borden knew that line was the biggest bull crap he ever spewed from his mouth.

Borden and Sandman walked back to the Rolling Rock where they waited. Thirty minutes later, a fire engine red '65 Malibu Convertible along with a motorcycle complete with sidecar towed behind it.

After the Sandman paid the guys off and received the keys, he deposited said keys to Borden. "I've been drinking more than you. You're driving. I'll tell you where to go. When we have Dreamer, he'll drive the sidecar and I'll ride with him."

Rolling down the streets of ECW, Borden drove up to an apartment complex complete with fire escape railings. "Drive a few feet up." Sandman said straightforwardly. Without complaint, Borden drove a bit further until Sandman told him to stop.

The loud crash of glass breaking reverberated through the air as a large figure fell through a fourth story window up above them, right into the back seat of the car.

Sandman looked behind him to recognize the prone form of 'Primetime' Brian Lee bruised up and cut up worse than what one's supposed to be when one is thrown through a window.

Tommy Dreamer's head stuck out of the window. "Thanks for saving me the trouble of having a murder strike on my record, Jim."

"Tommy, get down here before the cops decide to join us." Sandman called out, tossing Brian Lee out of the car and into a dark alleyway, unconsciously throwing him right into a trash heap.

Tommy Dreamer and his girlfriend, the eye-catching Beulah McGillicutty, came walking up to them. "She insisted."

"The more the merrier, I guess." Borden replied, though he was wondering what Beulah would bring to the table. "The party favors are in the trunk."

Popping the trunk lid open, Dreamer and Beulah lifted it up to reveal a small arsenal of cannons, revolvers, shotguns and assorted blades, instruments and accessories all designed to maim and punish the human anatomy.

To Tommy, he felt like a kid in a candy store when he saw the weapons he could chose from. Beulah tapped him on the skull with her knuckles to bring him back to the task at hand. "Ok, Jim, what is it that you need my help on?"

"Shane Douglas, Scott Steiner and Billy Kidman; those three stooges are involved in kidnapping Okerlund's daughter. We're going to get a lot of answers to a lot of questions before it's all said and done and perhaps get into a fight or two if we're lucky."

"Let's go, then, I can't wait." Tommy said as he caught the keys Borden tossed at him with one hand.

"Aren't you worried about your apartment?" Borden asked concerning the window.

"Nope, we put up hurricane shutters before we left. The window Brian Lee fell out of was the one he hadn't gotten around to yet until before we got out here." Beulah answered as Tommy unlatched the motorcycle sidecar from the trailer and getting it on the road.

Beulah hopped on behind him as the Sandman got into the sidecar passenger compartment, Singapore cane in one hand, a cigarette lit in between his lips and a six pack in the other. Looking at the six-pack inquiringly, Beulah asked a question that she already knew the answer to.

"Why are you drinking when we're going to be driving?"

"You guys are driving. I'm not, so I've got the right to drink. All I'll be doing during the drive is sitting and cracking some WCW skulls on the way." Sandman replied, popping one can open in one hand and chugging it down before slamming the can into his head.

With Borden in his Caddy while Tommy Dreamer and Beulah with the Sandman followed in the motorcycle sidecar, the quartet drove off.

The ECW district grew further and further away as they made their way to the WCW side of town where the roads ran green with money and red with blood; a place where the one with the 'thickest wallet' commands the most respect and where everyone is for themselves.

* * *

Beulah sat in the back of the car, keeping out of the sight of anyone who would spot her. 

They had just arrived at a place called The Fun House, a dive run by the demented Diamond Dallas Page. His last place of business since Kimberly and her Nitro Girls ran him out of his brothels under threat of castration.

She calmed down instantly when the guys got back. "So what did that pervert have to say?"

"Franchise and Freak often hang at the Boiler Room, scouting for new talent." Dreamer said as Sandman and Borden went to the Caddy to check their arsenal.

"So what are we going to do when we get there?"

"Beulah, I know you are tough, but I need you to go to the Crystal Lake. Stay with Giovanni, I'm sure she has a cot for you at the club. What Jim, Steve and I have to do, I can't let you go with us." Before she could protest, Tommy explained.

"Stay with Joy tonight at the Crystal Lake. Wait there. If we don't come back in the morning, have her take you back to ECW through the railways."

"I don't want to lose you, Tommy." Beulah said, fearing for her man's life.

"We've been through tough times, haven't we? We got through them then and we'll get through this just the same." Kissing her lovingly and affectionately, Dreamer and Beulah hopped on the side car and drove off to the Crystal Lake.

"He'll meet us there. He's had some dealings with Cactus. Me too, though Jack and I haven't always seen eye to eye on a lot of things." Sandman said, lacing the Singapore cane with razor wire instead of the customary barb wire.

Within moments, Borden and the Sandman drove off towards the Boiler Room.

* * *

Entering the Crystal Lake through the service entrance, Beulah found herself led up to the balcony level to meet with Joy Giovanni, who had just finished her meal. 

"Beulah, what's up?" Joy asked, concerned at the expression on Beulah's face. After sitting down, Beulah told Joy her situation, leaving out the details of Borden's involvement.

Joy led Beulah to her office/penthouse suite upstairs. Upon entering the room, Joy closed the door and walked behind a dressing panel. "What happened?" Joy asked while she began stripping her dress from her body.

"Tommy, Jim, and Borden left me here seeing as they're headed to the Boiler Room." Beulah said, spellbound as she watched Joy proceed to shed her bra and panties as well.

"They said it would be best if I lay low here for the night." Beulah said. "Tommy told me that if he didn't return by dawn, he wanted you to get me back to the ECW grounds quickly before anyone from Bischoff's side catches wind of me being here. I hope that's not too much trouble for you."

Joy emerged from the panel in a physique-hugging robe that accentuated her amazing body and figure. Dainty hands pulled back the front of the robe slightly to display some impressive cleavage. "No trouble at all, Beulah." Joy said, tugging the sides of the robe off her shoulders, showing off her bare shoulders and cleavage but not too much to be naked if she untied the sash. "What brought Borden into this? Is it a case? Does he know what he's getting himself into?"

Beulah nodded, though it was difficult to peel her eyes away from Joy's body. "From the way he's been going about it, it seems as though he needed to take this one. Don't worry about him. He's a grown man. He's going to be fine." If only she could convince herself, much less the younger woman, who caused her to breathe heavily.

"I'm just concerned for him, that's all." Joy said, looking at a long case padlocked with three combination locks and five bolt locks. "Just as long as he remembers who he is, I have not much to be concerned about, right?"

A shriek escaped from her lips as a black scorpion scurried across the box. One gunshot later, the scorpion was dead. Joy turned to see Beulah with a pistol in her hands. "How did that get there?"

"I don't know, Beulah." Joy said, feeling a cold chill go down her spine.

There was something that would rise back from the ashes.

Something…or someone that should have stayed buried would return.

* * *

"Franchise, I have to admit that as much as I despise you and the Genetic Freak, Steiner has one redeeming factor. He will sooner take a bullet through the eye before he ever entertained the notion of ratting someone out. Since he decided not to be forthcoming in giving information," Borden backed away slightly to reveal the corpse that had once been Scott Steiner with a gun shot wound through the left eye. "We called him on his bluff." Borden replied nonchalantly. "Now, I hope you will be more forthcoming with answers, Shane, because at this moment, the truth may not only set you free, but it can also spare your life. Who came to Vampiro with the job?" 

"Fuck you, Borden. I'm not saying shit!" Shane Douglas yelled.

Within minutes, Shane Douglas earned himself a new moniker.

The Stuck Pig.

Apropos, since he started bleeding and squealing like one. The barb wire tightened around his abdomen and torso, tearing his flesh to shreds as blood stained the floorboards.

With a raised hand, Borden signaled for the Sandman and Tommy Dreamer to pause.

"You're not gonna have anything in between your head and your waist unless you start singing like a canary, Shane. One again: Who handed the order down to Vampiro?"

"It was Randy Orton. He showed us the deal himself; snag the blonde princess of Okerlund's and it would be worth our while." Douglas cried out, the wires taut across his person causing his breathing to become labored.

"Where is she?" Borden asked.

"The Mortis Nostrae; the condemned subway station in the outskirts of WCW, Vampiro's stomping grounds" Shane answered.

With that tidbit of information, Borden looked up to the Innovator of Violence and the Hardcore Icon. "All right, we got what we need to know. Let's get out of here."

Halfway to the door, Borden's ear caught the sound of a small blast, followed by a tortured scream. "Dreamer, what was the purpose of the Molotov cocktail? Douglas was restrained by wire. What was he going to do?"

"It wasn't Douglas. Kidman was in hiding. He was about to blast us to kingdom come but I heard the gun click. Thankfully my reflexes were sharper than his trigger. I suggest you don't look back. You wouldn't like it."

Sure enough, both Douglas and Kidman were burned alive. Borden didn't have to turn his head to see it. The smell of roasting flesh became thick with the oxygen.

While Steven Borden and Tommy Dreamer were about to leave, Sandman approached Cactus Jack. "Sorry about the room, Cactus. Just tell me when ya close up and I'll send some guys to clean up the mess."

"I'll make sure you don't forget, Sandman." Cactus Jack replied as the Sandman dropped seven hundred dollar bills in Cactus' hand. With a drink in one hand, a lit cigarette between his lips and his Singapore cane in the other hand, Sandman walked outside to join his friends.

In the parking lot, the Sandman found only Tommy Dreamer waiting for him. The sidecar motorcycle stood there for them but both Borden and the Caddy were gone. "Where's the flatfoot?"

"He had to go alone. He said he needed to handle this on his own terms and without a committee trying to talk him out of it." Tommy replied.

"Oh well, to each his own, I guess." Looking around, the Sandman pointed to the sidecar. "Well, no use waitin' 'round her for Borden. My guess is that wherever he's going, he's not coming back."

With that, Tommy Dreamer and the Sandman drove out of town.

* * *

In another part of town, the bodies of Alex Shelley and Petey Williams were found dangling from the business end of nooses off the side in the alleyway of the ominous club known as 'Hell in a Cell'. Upon inspection, the coroners found that the insides had been removed but without any surgical incisions. So it was to much their surprise when they administered the autopsy and found the corpses to be filled to the brim with worms. 

Down in the sewers, a red-faced, bizarre madman who referred to himself as 'the Boogeyman' devoured a fistful of night-crawlers as he braced himself on his Voodoo staff, laughing hysterically.

* * *

A weathered sign that read "Senton Bomb Station" stood before a tattered subway stairway leading down below the city; perhaps symbolic of the Stairway to Hell. 

The WCW districts used to house such a subway that ran through all the territories in Death Valley.

Then the wars began.

Bischoff had been using the subways as a front to leech off the ECW and WWF mobs, taking their profits and trades, planting the blame on each of the others causing friction and eventually it grew into frequent and vicious gang warfare. When the truth surfaced, Heyman and McMahon rallied their soldiers and attacked WCW's badlands. The subway tunnels were sealed and banned, therefore making the subway unusable to anyone.

Two years following the fateful battle, Vampiro unearthed the sole subterranean railway station that would soon become his base of operations. It helped of course that it was located in the outer reaches of Death Valley where no one, if anyone, visited.

The Senton Bomb Station soon became known as the Mortis Nostrae for it was not a place of life. Nothing lived in that underground domicile. The screams that were rumored to have been heard helped cement that moniker.

No one had any reason to be anywhere near that desolate place.

* * *

The red Cadillac ripped off the road 3 miles from the city and came to a stop in front of the boarded up entrance to the Senton Bomb Station. 

Popping the trunk open, Borden looked over his arsenal.

Using a long length of athletic tape, Borden taped his left forearm and hand before tying it up with barb wire from the wrist to mid-forearm despite the fact that his left forearm was already taped up with bandage. A six-shot pistol gripped in a shoulder holster and a pair of sharpened hatchets with kerosene-tipped blades later, he made his descent below ground.

Before leaving the Boiler Room, Cactus Jack gave Borden a lighter saying it could shed some light in his journey. It proved right as he lit the blades of the hatchets, turning lethal weapons into dual torches.

With his weapons in hand, Borden began his descent into the Mortis Nostrae.

The hideout wore the resemblance of an Egyptian tomb. Not so much for hieroglyphics and sand but rather for the fact that anything that Vampiro considered as treasures for himself, he kept buried with him underground, along with the skeletal remains of his victims.

Shadows danced across the walls as he walked through the darkness. For a moment, the only sounds he heard were the sounds of rats scurrying across the lime green tiles.

Walking to the edge of the railways, he heard the muffled sounds of someone screaming.

With swifter steps in his stride, he dove deeper into the caverns of the Mortis Nostrae walking across the railroad tracks until he saw a light up ahead at the tunnel.

Following the light, he soon found himself in what seemed to be a rotunda combined with the Roman Coliseum. A bright column of light shone down upon the bound form of Stacy Keibler. Her clothes had several days of wear, her mouth had been gagged with tape and 8 inch ropes binding her wrists, arms, legs and ankles; all of which showed extreme signs of rope burn.

Quicker than a heartbeat, Borden felt the air tighten behind him, causing him to hit the floor before a farmer's scythe cut him in half. Stacy let out a muffled scream as the assailant soon made himself known.

"Good to see the years off duty has not worn down your senses, old man." The high, hissing voice crooned. "For a minute there, I thought you have grown soft."

"There are just some things that the body and mind can never forget, Vampiro, and I ain't that damn old that I couldn't kick your ass…again."

Vampiro swung the two-handed scythe deftly and mercilessly as Borden parried with the flaming hatchets. Though the lecherous mad dog hoodlum kept him at a great distance with the scythe, the weapon would become useless as Borden used the hatchets to sever the scythe's handle, destroying the weapon.

Without the long-armed weapon to keep his opponent at bay, Vampiro grabbed two sickles from his sides and began to slash and thrust against Borden who utilized the hatchets to keep the light on Vampiro while keeping the sickles at a far distance.

The semi-knife fight continued for a while before Vampiro blinded Borden with a mouthful of red mist. As Borden dropping the blades, Vampiro charged at him, both sickles side by side, preparing to carve up the private eye.

As the blades fell, Borden threw up his left arm, the barb wire saving his hide momentarily before he pulled his pistol from the holster and shot Vampiro at point blank range with all the bullets in the barrel.

Getting back up to his feet, Borden looked at the prone body of Vampiro before grabbing the sickles and cutting the vampiric hood's head off.

Recovering his senses, Borden went over to Stacy and removed the tape from her mouth. "Are you alright, Stacy?" he asked as he cut the ropes off of her.

"I am now." She said, her voice trembling slightly from the fear and anguish she had endured for a long while. "He's dead, isn't he?" Stacy asked nervously. Borden's nod of confirmation made her that much more uneasy. "Can you walk?" Borden asked. Stacy tried to stand but the rope burns on her ankles made it extremely difficult. Therefore Borden carried her out of the Mortis Nostrae in his arms, her eyes closed so as to not see the headless corpse of Vampiro.

"How long have you been down there?" Borden asked as he put her gingerly in the front seat of the Cadillac. "The last place I remember being at was outside the Lion's Den nearby Ken Shamrock's old neighborhood a week ago. Randy and I had just left the club and on our way back to his place when Vampiro, Steiner, Douglas and Kidman jumped us. I think they used chloroform to put us out because of the rags they put over our mouths. When I came to, Randy was gone but Vampiro had dragged me to that dungeon."

"Where is Randy, Stacy?" Borden asked, a plan already forming in his head as they drove back into town.

"He's usually around the House of Red Tears on the close borders to the WWF side of town. He has a regular penthouse suite there on the 20th floor, room 2016. But as to where he is, I really don't have a clue. Why do you ask?"

"I had a most interesting talk with Douglas before I got here." Borden replied. "He told me, against his will, that it was Randy who organized the abduction. His plan was to use you to gain the throne when your father passes away. Stacy, if I take you back to your father, you would always have to wonder who else will threaten your life next." The answer hit her like a kick in the teeth. Her face showed a distraught psyche as well as an emotionally scarred heart.

"So where are you going?" Stacy asked. The answer soon made itself known as they soon found themselves parked across from the House of Red Tears.

Facing Stacy as he shut off the ignition of the car, he told her what he was going to do. "As much as this may be difficult for you, I have to confront Orton. I want you to wait for me in the lounge area. Whatever happens, I want you to stay put."

"Are you going to arrest him?" Stacy asked.

"If he's with who I think he's with, then the justice system has nothing to do with this." Pulling out a round of six bullets, he loaded up the six-shot handgun before locking in the barrel. Looking down to his ankle holster, he checked the Dillenger 9mm before returning it to the holster. "Most likely, he will not give me a choice in what I will have to do. Follow me." Borden said, helping Stacy out of the car, wrapping his full length coat around her to hide the bruises on her arms and legs. Her movements were strained due to the rope burns but she made it through alright enough.

Walking across the street within 3 minutes, they made their way inside the posh hotel lobby. Twenty paces from them was the lounge/bar section. Extracting a few dollar bills from his wallet, he handed them to Stacy. "Get yourself comfy with a few drinks but nothing too strong. I won't be long but not too brief either."

Stacy walked towards the closest table and sat down. After ordering her martini, Stacy reached under the table and extracted a cell phone taped underneath the surface and dialed a number from her head.

"It's me. Yes, he's headed there right now. Have all the preparations been made?" After a momentary pause, she responded. "Good. Make sure the roads lead back to him."

Borden had long since removed the barb wire from his arm before he and Stacy entered the hotel. Moving at a swift yet discreet pace so as not to raise any attention, Borden took the express elevator to the 20th floor, though it took some persuasion to convince the guards there to let their guard down. Thankfully for Borden, no one noticed how he discreetly shot tranquilizers into the guards, propping them up so as not to cause a ruckus.

After gaining access to the elevator, Borden soon made his way up to the 20th floor.

Peering out the elevator, he saw that the hallway was well lit. He also took notice of the fact that no one was walking around either. Most likely, they're all shacked up with someone or doing something that was most likely illegal or perverted, but that's not what brought him up here.

What brought him up to the top floor of a swanky hotel was the Machiavellian mind of a spoiled brat named Randy Orton.

As he drew nearer to his destination, he soon found himself staring at door 2016.

The moment he knocked on the door, it opened easily.

Too easily, not withstanding the fact that no one leaves their hotel room unlocked, that Borden's quick hands pulled both guns from his sides and entered the room with his guard up and his awareness sharper than a bowie knife.

He had not gone further than the door before he was jumped by ten goons dressed in black. Some of them were hard to brush off, but not skilled enough to outfight Steve Borden.

With a hand in his coat pockets, he withdrew a fistful of thumbtacks and threw them all right into the faces of his attackers, causing them to go blind slightly and screaming from the pain.

Before he could throw another swing, Borden noticed that they all began to back away from him.

All of a sudden, he felt a sting shoot across his head, causing him to tumble into the abyss of unconsciousness. His body fell in a heap.

There, standing from the doorway, with his coat over her arm and a pistol in hand was Stacy Keibler.

Mario Puzo was right; the most dangerous woman is the damsel in distress.

* * *

_Why do I feel like the mark of the century?_

The question came back to haunt him; the same one that echoed in his head when he first started the case, along with a new question.

How is it that the ones who do right find themselves paying the price for their good deeds?

His thoughts, akin to a shattered jigsaw puzzle, began to piece themselves together slowly as the world around him began to take form again. He found himself handcuffed to an armchair. The recognizable cadences of Metallica's 'Nothing Else Matters' filled his head, as though heralding the proverbial winter of discontent.

He lifted his head and saw Stacy sat sidesaddle on Randy Orton's lap, spread eagle with her back to Orton while staring right at Borden.

"For one of the most decorated detectives on the force, you're slow on the uptake." Randy taunted as Stacy reached over Orton's shoulder and pulled out a pair of non-prescription glasses, placing them over her eyes coyly. Only then did Steven Borden get the answer to his question.

Yes, he was indeed the mark of the century.

If the booze hadn't killed most of his brain cells at the time, he would have remembered.

Ms. Hancock, Stacy's mother, had passed away due to heart failure three years ago. Then again, with all that happened in his life, it was easy to forget some things when being out of the loop for so long.

"So now it all becomes clear." Stacy said, walking over to Borden, who was staring silver bullets through Keibler. "My father; he never could accept the fact that he was fighting a loosing war. There's no use fighting them. It's either die in the wake of their onslaught or stand at their side." With a swift motion, she brought her right leg up on the chair, grabbing Borden's head, forcing him to look between her legs.

His blood ran cold as he saw it; the tattoo on her inner thigh close to her core.

"How long?" He asked, dreading the question and the answer at the same time.

"Right now, that should be least of your concerns. Then again, you were once one of THEM, right? So what's it to you?"

Borden let out a scream as he felt the bandages on his arm ripped off by her nails, revealing the third degree burns and a faded tattoo. The same tattoo on her thigh.

nWo

"Don't you see that your so-called principles don't add up to much in Death Valley?"

With fire blazing in his eyes, Borden spat vehemently right in Stacy's face.

Grinning slyly, Stacy wiped away the saliva with her hand, which she then used to back hand him before punching him in the teeth once.

"You're going to be charged and convicted for theft of finances from Okerlund's estate, Borden, as well as the abduction of his precious daughter, Stacy. When they speak of you, they will only speak of how you had disgraced youself and the force with your last gasp of breath." Orton sneered. "Nothing you or anyone else can say can change it. This city is gonna be ours. Not that you are going to live long enough to see it all happen." Stacy added as she taped Borden's mouth closed again.

With a wave of his hand, ten underlings grabbed Borden and threw him into a double wide, double deep casket. Before closing it, Stacy carried forth a burlap sack. With a sinister smile, she opened the parcel and threw the contents into the casket with Borden.

"Here you go, Borden. These are the only ones who'll mourn your demise."

Detective Steve Borden's screams of pain, though muffled, could be heard as thousands of scorpions stung him to death, the final blow was when two scorpions shot their stingers right into his eyes.

* * *

The news spread like wildfire. The body of Steven Borden, former police officer of the DVPD, was found at the Diamond Grove Hospital. Thankfully Kathy, who was later given time off to mourn the loss of her boyfriend, had not been there to see the body thrown at the doorstep of the hospital by persons unknown. 

Rena was there to help her deal with the loss though she knew who was responsible for Borden's death.

Torrie, though a bit shaken by the death of Billy Kidman, wasn't exactly up in tears for him. She was sad for her aunt's loss of Steve. Along with her younger sister, Trish, she went to their mother and aunt to show their support.

* * *

In another part of town, Traci bowed her head as she attended the funeral for Petey Williams. They had been dating for a while before the Borden incident. The whole while, Traci had been trying to convince him to leave Jarrett and D'Amore because of the dangers they kept heaping onto themselves. 

He always had a thick head. Maybe that's why he's now in a pine box.

* * *

Missy Hyatt joined the Meros in the mourning of Steven Borden's passing. The young aspiring ADA in the WWF side of town had always looked up to Borden since he had joined the police force. In actual truth, she expunged his transgressions with the authorities from his records in order to get him into the force. Not many, if any, police officers showed up the day of Borden's funeral. 

Only two showed up to pay their respects.

The first one was the captain of the 16th precinct, Roderick Piper a.k.a. Roddy Piper, who had dealt with Borden on three cases before he left the force. The second was the captain of the 32nd precinct who trained Borden in his rookie days, Ric Flair.

In the distance from the funeral, a stranger watched from a sewer vent underneath the sidewalk, devouring worms languidly.

* * *

Deep in the dark recesses of the sewers, the bizarre Boogeyman lurked down in the sewers as several voodoo paraphernalia and tools used for ceremonial purposes. 

Before him was perhaps a stereotypical cauldron with a concoction boiling over a fire.

Clutching a severed scorpion's tail in his hand, he used the tip of the stinger to paint black lines across the face of a mockup voodoo doll. "Pain and suffering upon those who would wish it upon the weak." He chanted as he tied the tail to the doll before tying it to a ragged baseball bat. "Rest and reprieve to those who truly seek them."

With those words, he took the bat and stuck it right into the cauldron. "IT'S SHOWTIME!"

* * *

Fiona sat on the barren desk of her late master, curled up in a furry ball. Her head bowed in grief knowing that she would never see him again. 

In the morning, the landlord would come and take all the effects of that room with him. As for her, she couldn't hide. If she were found out, she would be cast out to the cold streets.

The doors fell to the floor with a sound in par to a thunderbolt, causing the feline to shriek in alarm. The figure there was indecipherable due to the darkness clouding his face.

Making his way to the armoire, he took the bolt cutters in hand and cut away the chains.

Inside the armoire was a full sized mirror for the back wall. On the shelf inside were a black trench coat, a black shirt, black pants, black boots, and a pair of black gloves.

Fiona watched in trepidation as the stranger began to throw on the black garb expeditiously. As he shook the trench coat onto his person, a scorpion fell from the right sleeve only to be stomped down by a hard boot.

Fiona watched at he approached her. All she saw was the same pair of eyes of her master.

"Fiona, my friend." That trembling voice said slightly as a hand petted her fur lovingly. Recognizing the voice, Fiona jumped into his arms and licked his face affectionately.

"Thank you for remembering me."

* * *

One hour had passed since Joy had closed up the bar for the night. After some down time with Beulah before she was picked up by Dreamer and Sandman, Joy had thrown on another dress and rejoined the scene at the Crystal Lake for a while. 

When everyone had gone home and the club was still and silent, Joy returned to her penthouse suite upstairs in the Crystal Lake.

Sliding into a silk nightgown that accentuated her large bust line and toned figure, she lay down in her bed and went to sleep.

Forty five minutes later, Joy woke to the sound of meowing coming from her office.

Rising from the bed, Joy threw on her robe and extracted a revolver from her night table.

Quietly making her way to the office, she was soon met by Fiona sat on one of the chairs across from her desk. "Fiona, sweetheart, how did you get here?" Joy asked as she picked up the cat and cradling the feline to her chest before realization came upon her.

Looking up in a hurry, she saw the case opened and emptied.

"Don't fret yourself, Joy. I'm not here for you." Joy turned to see the tall figure in the room dressed from tip to toe in black. In his right hand was the weapon he was best affiliated with: an unmarked, polished black bat.

"I just came by to pick up something you've kept for me." Looking her over, he brushed her hair tenderly. "Thank you."

"Is it you, Steve?" Joy asked as she looked into the white/black painted face.

"No, darling. Steven Borden's in heaven now. You know who I am and you know what I have to do."

"From the sounds of it, someone's not going to see the dawn of another day. Am I one of them, Sting?"

He shook his head. "You're not on my 'Most Wanted Dead' list, Joy. Borden wouldn't take too kindly to me if anything happened to you." Looking at her soft smile, he turned to leave. "Where are you off to?" Joy asked.

"To church, of course; I've done many things. What I'm about to do, I gotta set the score straight with God and myself."

"Sting?" Joy called out, causing him to turn his head slightly. "Are you going to tell Kathy you're here?"

He said nothing as he disappeared. Joy held Fiona close to her heart as she looked out onto Death Valley as she watched Sting disappear into the city.

* * *

The bells began to toll in the twilight hours as Sting stood in the pouring rain looking up at the cathedral before him. Throwing the doors open in his wake, Sting strode into the holy sanctuary, bat in hand. 

With his free hand, he dipped his fingers in holy water, performed the cross sign on his head, chest and shoulders in the proper form of reverence before walking towards the confession booths. Sliding into one, he sat down at the bench and waited; his trademark bat at his side the whole while.

When the panel opened, he spoke. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I haven't kept a calendar as to when I was last here nor did I keep a full account of all the things I've done. Besides, I've already sought repentance for those things. Right now I need forgiveness for what I'm about to do."

No voice came from the other side for a moment before a familiar tenor voice came from the other side of the booth. "Hello, Sting."

Startled, Sting looked through the window. Though it was barely see through, he could recognize the man staring back at him. "What are you doing here?" Sting asked.

"I happen to be a churchgoer. Who would have believed it? You certainly wouldn't."

"Why are you here?"

"Though I may dress in black, wear a somber expression and walk in shadows, I am not the villain I'm painted to be." The Undertaker's words, haunting and clear, carried with them an ominous underlying tone. "You, of all people, would know that."

"You took the words from my mouth, if I had a tenth of the mind you do." Sting replied.

"We have all done things that we are not proud of and there have indeed been times that we lost everything we ever loved. Yet here we are." The Undertaker mused as he sat there in contemplation. "Go do what you must. Remember to not become what you hunt. Otherwise, your whole purpose for returning will be inane."

Nodding his head in understanding, Sting looked at the man who was once a kid from the streets of Death Valley he looked out for like a brother. "I wonder if we will ever see each other again."

"We were young once, Steven." Undertaker said.

"I remember. We had to fight for what we had in life, if not to just keep breathing." Borden said. One, Steven, went to be a cop and one of the most decorated in the force while the other, Mark became, in many ways, the true king of the city.

Even the McMahons lived in fear of him.

As quick as his eyes blinked, the Undertaker disappeared, leaving the adjacent booth vacant. "Till our next meeting, Deadman."

* * *

The rain had died down to a light shower as Sting strode out onto the road after leaving the cathedral. He had not even left the gates when he came across the Bowery drifter. Dressed to the nines in his black kilt, skeleton shirt and black reefer jacket, Raven stood with taped up fists and an ankh painted over the right side of his face and right eye. His hair had turned from dark red to black and blue, yet it didn't diminish his gloomy persona one bit. 

"Where's your girl, Kimona?" Sting inquired though his mind was focused on other things than the Asian concubine of Raven's.

"She had gone into hiding for now." Raven answered curtly.

"Why are you here? I'm more than certain that you don't care for my plight."

"I don't. If Orton and Keibler succeed, they'll unleash the plague of the nWo onto this entire city. No one would be safe, not even the ECW. If you're going up against them now that they're with the New World Order, you will need my help."

"How do I know that you won't turn on me, Raven?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Sting." Raven said, grabbing Sting's left arm, revealing the faded nWo tattoo. "There are not many ex-soldiers alive today who have really gone straight all the way. Come with me. I have something that might look familiar to you."

Walking with Raven around to the back of the cathedral, Sting and Raven came upon the red Caddy that he had left parked on the street before he went to confront Orton.

"I picked it up before the cops could confiscate it." Raven said, pulling out a pair of spiked brass knuckles from his coat pocket. "What's your preferred weapon, Sting?" Raven asked, the trunk of the car open to reveal the myriad of weapons and accessories laid out inside.

"I got what I'm going to need right here." Sting answered as he raised his hand, gripped around the handle of his trademark black bat. A scorpion climbed out of the collar of his trench coat and scurried around Sting's neck before walking across his arm and onto the bat.

"Let's go." Sting said jumping into the car, Raven sitting in the driver's seat.

The Caddy let out a roar as the engine fired to life and soon they were on their way.

By the time they had hit the road, it took about two minutes for Sting to realize something. "How did you know where to find me or how I came back?"

"The alleged soothsayer, Mideon, approached me at the Hammerstein Ballroom. He told me that the clouds would spew the venom of scorpions to herald the return of a legend."

Raven turned his peripheral attention to Sting. "He was there in the church instead of the padre, right?" Raven inquired

"Who's 'he'?" Sting asked, knowing full well who Raven was talking about.

"The Undertaker; he was there. He spoke to you. What did he tell you?"

"He didn't tell me much. He's oftentimes laconic and cryptic; perhaps that's what helps him to be so feared. He said that though he was dressed in black, wore a somber expression and walked in shadows that he was not the villain he had been painted to be." Sting answered, keeping the connections he held with the Phenom shrouded in shadows of short-paced responses.

"And that means what to you?" Raven asked, wondering why the Phenom would choose to speak to Sting.

"I think he mean to say that though he was seen as bad, he never had been necessarily malevolent. Knowing him, you realize that you don't know him and what he's thinking."

They rode on down the streets of Death Valley, the sounds of Creedance Clearwater Revival echoing through the radio.

_I see a bad moon rising. I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightning. I see a bad time today. Don't go 'round tonight. 'Cause it's gonna take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise…_

* * *

Sting and Raven drove down the roads leading to Bob Orton Jr's ranch house out in the rural areas of Death Valley. The renowned yet conceited and equally corrupt judge of the WWF district had kept for himself and his son a place out in the country; a place they could relax in without fear of the gang warfare, away from the sounds of sirens and screams, a place where they could feed their avaricious vices and conduct their homicidal deeds with no witnesses. 

Raven had acquired this information from grilling violently one of Orton's small-time errand boys who made excellent informants under the right 'persuasions'. Threatening to subtract certain body parts from their anatomy without anesthetics, they told him everything they knew about the Orton ranch outside the borders of the city.

Their bodies wouldn't be discovered by the authorities for months and when that happened, there wouldn't be anything left to identify.

When they had got to 3 miles shy of their location, Sting turning the car to the side of the road, parking under a tree where it could be concealed easily in the dark, turning off the engine without a word. "What is it?" Raven asked blatantly and evenly.

"We're leaving the car here." Looking over Raven's head, he saw a forest that could cut easily to the ranch house. "Do you feel like taking a hike through the woods?"

Raven paused for a moment before he became aware of Sting's point of view. They would have been spotted too easily in the car.

"All right, I get the message. However, it's uncouth to arrive to someone's abode empty-handed." Raven replied as he took out several spools of barb wire and assorted weapons.

Within moments of arming themselves, Raven with his spiked brass knuckles on his hands and Sting with his bat in hand began their midnight trek through the dark woods.

Two hours later, they came across the Orton estate. Soldiers, no doubt from the nWo, were scattered across the property, prepared (paid) to protect their benefactors.

Sting took a moment to observe the landscape before going over the list of weapons he and Raven had in their arsenal.

Sting flailed a black-plated butterfly switchblade in one hand while the other held the bat as Raven fastened a thick belt over his kilt, laden with a myriad of throwing daggers shaped like crucifixes.

Looking Raven eye to eye, Sting laid out the objective. "Take the back way in. I'm going in the front. You can take care of the brat Orton however you want, Raven, but the bitch is mine to do in. Are we clear?"

Raven nodded solemnly as he sprinted over to the far northeast direction of the house before Sting crept out towards the house in the exact-opposite direction.

* * *

Raven crept across the fields as he made his way further towards the stronghold. The first three guards were easily dispatched as each punch Raven threw towards their necks ruptured the jugulars, causing lethal exsanguinations. 

Meanwhile, Sting had walked up to the front door of the house, the dead bodies of Gene Snitsky and Jon Heidenreich lay unconscious on the floor, their skulls cracked fatally.

Raven and Sting regrouped in the living room. Giving their surroundings a once over, Raven spoke evenly. "So I had just killed a decorated detective, framed him for embezzlement and kidnapping and got away with it. What would I be doing right now?" Raven said, making Sting narrow his eyes in anger.

"I would probably hook up with a girl and get myself smiling on a midnight delight." Sting said with an aggravated tone in his voice, pointing his bat upwards to the stairs.

* * *

Randy woke up a few minutes after Stacy went to take a bath. Stepping out of bed, he walked over to the mantle and lit a few presto logs after placing them in the fireplace. 

The sound of footsteps caused him to turn around, only to find no one behind him. Turning back to the fireplace, a sharp sensation in his larynx was there to greet him as Raven stared back at him from behind the mirror above the mantle. He would have screamed in pain. However, it's difficult to scream when a blade is impaled through the neck, exiting out through the larynx. Raven had performed an unorthodox, torturous form of a tracheotomy on Randy Orton, blood spraying over the mirror and mantle before Orton collapsed into a pile. Gurgled sounds oozed from Orton as Raven pinned down his hands and feet to the floor with his myriad of blades.

The sound of a bat crushing a skull reverberated from the bathroom along with glass shattering and an agonized scream before everything became still and silent. Sting walked out of the bathroom moments later with blood splattered black clothes and equally blood splattered hands. His bat made a trail of blood on the tile floors as he dragged it languidly across the floors.

A horde of scorpions followed in his steps.

Without saying another word, Raven picked up the gas tank he picked up from outside and began dousing the place in gasoline. On the way out of the room, Sting shot his hand through the wall and ripped the gas line open.

"Raven, take the car and drive back to wherever you call home. This is something I have to do on my own." Sting said with a look of resolve and resignation in his face.

"If you're going up in a blaze, it's bound to be a blaze of something other than glory. Burn well, Sting. I never was interested in knowing you." Raven replied before walking back through the forest.

_See you 'round, Levy. _Sting thought to himself.

Sting walked into the gas filled, gasoline sprayed, fire sensitized house and looked at his reflection in the mirror. "I wanted out. Was that too much to ask for?" Reaching into his pocket, he looked at a picture of Kathy. "I'm sorry that I fell in love with you, only for you to have your heart broken because of me."

In his left hand, Sting held a zeppo lighter, which would serve as his executioner.

His eyes closed in sleep; he struck down on the lighter.

_With this strike, may the curtain close on me and leave me to eternal peace._

By the time Raven reached the car, he heard a loud explosion. Revving up the car, he drove off into the darkness.

* * *

That night in the country side of Death Valley, the lives of a judge's son, a mayor's daughter and an infamous vigilante went up in flames. Only when the proper authorities and coroners arrived on the scene, they only found two bodies instead of three. 

When questioned about the explosion, Judge Orton Jr declared the death of his son and potential daughter-in-law as an atrocity of nightmarish proportions.

* * *

Somewhere on the high rooftops of Death Valley, a figure shrouded in shadow stood from on high, gazing upon the city. A swarm of crimson scorpions crawled about him and a few on the black bat in his hands. 

**THE END**


End file.
